


The Atom--Soviet Superwoman

by AXEe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate History, Cold War, Gen, Soviet Union, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AXEe/pseuds/AXEe
Summary: Hello all! More original work from me! This one is loosely inspired by Mark Miller's graphic novel "Superman: Red Son" enjoy! :=)
Kudos: 1





	The Atom--Soviet Superwoman

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! More original work from me! This one is loosely inspired by Mark Miller's graphic novel "Superman: Red Son" enjoy! :=)

**The Atom—the Soviet Superwoman  
By Alex Edwards, Associated Press  
 _26 December, 1991_**

Ask anyone on the street who was born before the year 1960 what they were thinking when the USSR announced the existence of its superpowered agent ‘The Atom’ and I can bet you that most of them will respond that the news terrified them, the knowledge that the U.S.’s ideological opponent had in its possession a genuine ‘superwoman’, a being who had all the powers of the fictional Superman, was—and still is—an absolutely terrifying thought, something which the Soviet propaganda machine wasted no time in taking advantage of, how many of us can recite from memory the boast that _‘there is only one superpower now’_?

But for those of us who grew up after that, the response is quite different.

Most people of my generation—those of us born in the early-1970s and ‘80s—don’t fear her at all. Instead, she is viewed simply as another fact of life, something that just ‘is’. Some even respect her for her conviction and dedication to her beliefs even if they don’t share those beliefs, and—in light of the recent coup attempt by the KGB and other communist hardliners against President Mikhail Gorbachev—many have openly admitted to admiring her for helping to maintain civil order in the USSR in recent weeks as those both opposed and in support of Gorbachev’s policies of _glasnost_ and _perestroika_ have clashed in the streets of Moscow as of late, as well as her impassioned speech at the Berlin Wall, demanding that it be torn down and Germany reunited.

Arriving in Moscow, I am greeted by an elderly man in a drab, plain suit and hat, an old-fashioned pipe between his teeth as he fumbles to both shake my hand and searches for some matches with his other. Speaking to me in accented-yet-fluent English as he finally succeeds in lighting his pipe, he introduces himself as Dr. Mikhail Tereshkov, the man behind the creation of The Atom herself.

His face glows with clear pride as he talks as we’re escorted to a waiting car, frequently referring to her as his ‘daughter’, it is clear that, to him, she is not some unique living weapon, or even a fantastic miracle of science, but a living, thinking, feeling being, deserving all the rights entitled to her.

Still puffing away at his pipe, he calls for the driver to stop and, at his urging; I get out and follow him into a small restaurant where we are guided to a table at the back.

As he settles in across from me, I’m suddenly struck at how very much Dr. Tereshkov reminds me of Santa Claus, with his bright, twinkling eyes and ruddy cheeks and soft, deep rumbling voice, the only thing missing is the jolly belly and the full bushy beard, his own white beard is neatly trimmed close.

Taking his pipe out of his mouth, he gestures with it towards the wall behind me, where as I turn, I can see is painted with a large mural depicting the October Revolution.

“You must understand,” he begins in his accented English “the Cold War scared many people. Both here and in the West. The Soviet people had endured so much loss, so much heartache against the Nazis, and yet could not rest easy, not with the new terrible atom bombs. They needed a, a symbol, an ideal, something to look up to, to admire, to assure them that their beliefs were not in vain,”

He pauses to take another puff from his pipe.

“Of course,” he continues, a twinkle in his eyes “that was not why the project was started, but it was why I joined, why I dedicated myself to the work,” his gaze becomes distant then “I had three sons,” he remarks “once that is, they were taken from me in the war, killed in the Battle of Stalingrad,” he suddenly thumps his fist in an energetic motion against the table, startling me

“ _That_ was why I joined!” he proclaims “to stop war, to stop all the senseless killing,”

By this point, his pipe has gone out and he calmly refills and relights it, puffing away once more as he smirks at me.

“But, that is not why you are here, is it, young lady?” he chuckles.

By this point a waitress has arrived, silently setting a full tea service on the table between us. Pouring a cup, Dr. Tereshkov offers it to me before pouring one for himself.

“The name wasn’t chosen by me” he admits.

“No?” I ask.

“Oh, heavens no!” he laughs “ _‘the atom’_ , such a pretentious name, don’t you think? Egotistical. No, no, it the decision had been mine I would have chosen something more…humble. _’The Samaritan’_ , perhaps, like the Bible story. But, the matter was out of my hands, left to the government. They wanted a name that would make our enemies in the West afraid” he explains.

“Well, it worked” I remarked.

“Oh yes,” he nods “yes, it did. It made your American government so afraid that you tried to replicate our work, to make your own superhumans, yes. What did you call him? The Liberator?”

“Agent Liberty” I correct him.

“Yes,” he nods “that was it, and remind me, Ms. Edwards, what exactly happened after that success?” he challenges.

“The U.S. government sent him in to try and take The Atom out” I admit. That one incident, referred to by the U.S. government as ‘Operation Eagle’ had been a colossal failure, not only did it show just how far behind our own superhuman project was to the Soviets’, it also proved the failures of President Greystone’s administration, he had been voted out of office less than a week after Agent Liberty had been soundly trounced by The Atom in less than five minutes after making landfall in Moscow.

“Yes, yes,” Dr. Tereshkov nods “but it didn’t work, did it? And do you know why?”

“No,” I answer “no one does, not really, there are theories of course, our own project was imperfect, that the information we gained from the defectors was spotty, incomplete”

“No,” he shakes his head “that wasn’t why it failed. Not entirely,”

He leans forwards, his pipe now cradled in one hand.

“Your project failed because you treated him like a ‘thing’, a weapon, not as a person,” he explains “for all her failings, I have strived to treat The Atom as a person, no matter how inhumane her origins may have been”

“In other words, you treat her as human being, not as some test tube creation” I comment.

“Is she not entitled to compassion?” he challenges “to respect? To be given and afforded the basic decencies that you and I take for granted? To be allowed to live as normal a life as possible despite who, or what, she is?”

“Yes, I suppose she is,” I nod “but, I’m curious, Doctor, just how did you create her anyway? Because there seems to be some confusion on that point”

“What confusion?” he asks.

“Well, there are conflicting sources,” I explain “some say that she was created in a laboratory, artificially grown in a test tube, and others say that she was some unnamed woman who was abducted and experimented on”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head “that second ‘theory’ of yours is a lie,” he explains “no, she was born in a laboratory, out of, as you say, a test tube,” he puffs on his pipe again “the idea was to raise her from infancy to have total loyalty to the state, to be a living weapon, but…,” he trails off “it didn’t quite work out that way. Oh yes, she is loyal to the Soviet Union, to communism, but she is also…good, decent, caring, ready to rescue anyone in need, be they American or Russian. Were I more of an egotistical man, I might credit myself with that aspect of her nature, but I cannot, no, she developed such qualities herself. Oh yes, I nurtured them, encouraged her to adhere to those convictions once I found out about them, but she developed those attributes entirely on her own,”

Finishing off his tea, he smiles at me, leaning forwards.

“Would you like to meet her?” he offers…

******

I’m soon blindfolded and taken with Dr. Tereshkov to some type of bunker. I can hear the rumble of what sounds like a subway train every once in a while as we’re led down a narrow corridor to stop at a heavy door that reminds me of the entrance to a bank vault. The two guards standing other side of snap to attention upon seeing Dr. Tereshkov and, after speaking with someone over the phone, remove two keys and unlock the door, which slides open with a motorized whir, revealing a long hallway.

Unlike the corridor that we had just been through, this one is more brightly lit, paintings adorn the walls, and we pass by some reproductions of Greek statues.

“A bit of color and culture to liven up the place” Dr. Tereshkov tells me with a smirk as we reach another heavy door. This one is guarded as well, but the two guards look more relaxed, more at ease than the fellows outside.

Making a mark on the paper before him, the one guard seated at the simple folding table nods politely at me as the doctor speaks with the other, the two of them clearly exchanging pleasantries before the doctor explains that I need to sign in.

Doing as asked, I step back and wait for the door to be opened, and as it does I can suddenly hear music blaring from the other side. Even more surprising is that I recognize it as Elvis Presley.

Following Dr. Tereshkov inside I’m met with what looks like a normal, if small, apartment. There’s a neat and tidy kitchenette in one corner, fully stocked, a television set and sofa and coffee table and two chairs, a hi-fi—which is where the music is coming from—and a door at the back which I presume leads to a bedroom.

Lying on the sofa, reading a magazine, is none other than The Atom herself. Looking up, she smiles and swings herself upright, eagerly embracing Dr. Tereshkov with a happy greeting of ‘Papa’ before she turns to me and offers a hand, which after a moment’s hesitation I take and shake.

“You’re the American reporter, yes?” she asks, her own English is accented but as fluent as her ‘father’s’.

“That’s right, yes” I reply as I sit down in one of the two armchairs. Up close, she’s not what I expect, the bright red and gold costume with the black cape and boots that we’ve all seen her in is draped somewhat-carelessly over the arm of the sofa, and she’s dressed in a simple and comfortable-looking sweater and slacks, her blonde hair tied back into a loose and messy ponytail.

She looks, in a word, casual, like the proverbial girl-next-door and not a superpowered being who could easily snap me in half like a toothpick if she was so inclined. And as we talk I find out that she isn’t so inclined.

She asks me about America, what’s it like, and seems to have a soft spot for our pop culture (she even asks if I could get her Robin Williams’ autograph), and as I go through the usual questions that every reporter’s wondered about her: her powers, her position within the Soviet system, I’m struck by how ‘normal’ the entire conversation seems. She offers me tea and happily serves us some mincemeat pie that she had baked the day before as we settle in.

She even has a pet, a small fluffy dog who quietly sits on her lap during our interview.

She’s intelligent, quickly roping me into a political discussion on the pros and cons of Marxist-Leninist politics (I lose, by the way, spectacularly), but she also expresses sadness at the hundreds of people killed during Stalin’s purges and at the continued political repression by the Soviet government to this day. She surprises me when I ask if she would support a communist revolution in the United States.

“No,” she tells me “a revolution would mean killing, violence, destruction. Your country can achieve a socialist system without resorting to that”

“How?” I ask, curious.

“Your people vote, yes?” she asks “you elect leaders and enact new laws regularly. Then you can achieve socialism that way,” she explains “reform the system,” she implores “don’t tear it down, _change_ it from within”

It’s a surprising answer, and frankly, one I wasn’t expecting, this is no rabid, superpowered communist nutcase, nor is she a card-carrying member of the Party who blindly follows whatever they say, no this is someone entirely different and unexpected.

When I ask her about why she didn’t participate in the recent Soviet war in Afghanistan, she surprises me yet again, explaining that she didn’t think that she was needed, and when I ask about her role in the famous evacuation of Vietnamese refugees during the Fall of Saigon she explains that she was merely doing what she thought was the right course of action morally, not politically.

As I’m escorted back to Moscow, she joins me, easily blending in with the crowds in Red Square, the riots have calmed down as of late, and aside from a few demonstrators, it’s a calm and quiet day.

Here, she points out various landmarks to me, explaining some of their history. As we walk, her little dog trailing along on his leash, a few people seem to recognize her even out of her costume. Some shy away in clear apprehension, others nod politely at her as they pass, some come up to her, asking to shake her hand, or for autographs, and others spit in her direction, clearly seeing her as personification of whatever they hate about the government.

She takes it all in good stride, happily giving out autographs and handshakes and to her detractors she’s equally as calm, sometimes giving a quick counterargument to them, or just plain ignoring them.

As I check into my hotel for the night, I’m struck by how ‘human’ she was, and by how right Dr. Tereshkov was. She was a good person, decent, kind, caring.

If you had asked me what I thought of her before this trip I would have said that I wasn’t sure what think of her, but now I know, she’s not government puppet, that may be what she was intended to be, but that’s not what she is.

No, she is, in a word, a hero, plain and simple. Something to strive for, to aspire to.

And isn’t that what truly matters more? Not what ideology she follows, but what she does as a person? I think it does, don’t you?

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> The date given is the actual date that the USSR official dissolved. Let me know what you thought :=)


End file.
